


(wanna scream i love you) from the top of my lungs

by aerospaces



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) RPF
Genre: Awkward Romance, Crossdressing Kink, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, M/M, New York City, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 14:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerospaces/pseuds/aerospaces
Summary: Ezra and Colin are dating (Ezra thinks). And life, life is good.





	1. Ezra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For a friend, again, who'd challenged me to write using the keywords Father's Day (because today is THE DAY) and "Day Off" (I think). Read her stuff @ [moonpunched](https://moonpunched.tumblr.com/), as she writes excellent Gradence headcanons and fic. She is my partner in crime without whom none of this would be possible lol. 
> 
> Lastly, if you want to fangirl over #Colezra, please feel free to drop me a line on twitter @[rtenenbaums](https://twitter.com/rtenenbaums). Title is from a FOB song though the last time I listened to them had been in high school. Still, it's one of said friend's favourite bands and I'm nothing if not a good friend ;-) Warnings for teeth rotting fluff and more domestic shit than you can shake a stick at!
> 
> Thanks for comments on my last two fics, you guys. There's plenty more to come (AUs and the like)!
> 
> Onward, we go!
> 
>  **EDIT** : I ADDED A MOODBOARD TO GO WITH THE FIC!

 

* * *

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ezra has only been to Colin’s apartment twice. The first time had been three months ago, when they’d both had a little bit to drink following a social engagement and Colin had taken him home instead of driven him back to his hotel. The second time had been for sex when Ezra had been less than subtle about wanting to be invited up. Both times Ezra had failed to take stock of his environs: the floor-to-ceiling windows covering one side of the wall, the beige curtains matching the carpeting, the Eames chair by the window, the lacquered coffee table that’s purely a prop instead of being functional.

Standing in Colin’s apartment for the third time in six months, armed with bags of groceries from Whole Foods, is certainly quite…novel. 

Ezra heaves all the shopping onto the kitchen counter and drums his fingers against the granite surface, marveling at the open space. Colin’s apartment is easily the largest he’s ever seen, and he knows for a fact it’s just one of his many properties. He’s got a home in London, and villas in continents south of the equator. Compared to Ezra’s laughably tiny Brooklyn apartment, which he’d never had the heart to move out of even when the money became real, Colin’s place is practically a mansion, a testament to the number of zeros tacked onto his paycheck. 

Because Ezra has the luxury of time, he lingers, now more than ever, cataloguing bits and pieces of anything that might catch his eye to complete the myriad images he has of Colin in his mental bank. Colin rifling through his mail with his eyebrows furrowed. Colin reading the paper with his glasses perched low on his nose. Colin taking an enormous bite out of a sandwich he had made in the kitchen before padding back into the living room, sans a shirt.

There are stacks of Blu-Rays on the shelf in the bedroom, horrible action movies starring Stallone and Segal, the combination of which is both terrifying and amusing. The only saving grace is that a shelf below it is devoted solely to classic films, Criterion Collection Blu-rays ranging from Akira Kurosawa to Federico Fellini, and some foreign language directors Ezra has never even heard of, whose names elude him as much as perplex him. He can hardly say any of the names right without risking sounding like a pretentious twat, or feeling like he’s a complete Philistine, having never seen _Rumble Fish_ or _Band of Outsiders._

Colin has a walk-in closet, and his clothes are arranged in gradients of light to dark — coats in one section, track pants and worn gym shirts in another, all arranged meticulously by colour and frequency of use. His closet smells like him, which shouldn’t be all that surprising, considering he has unique, if somewhat expensive cologne, but Ezra gets a kick out of standing in the dark of his closet anyway, running his hands over the worn sleeves of his old shirts, and pressing his face to the woolly material of his winter coats as he breathes. He rifles through every coat pocket to find a number of folded receipts, misshapen sticks of gum, and in one, an empty condom foil. Then he remembers that it’s the coat Colin had worn to a premiere he’d attended in Tribeca, and shown up in when he had paid Ezra a visit on the very same day — the coat Ezra had slipped his hands inside of, two months ago, when Colin seized him by the waist in the cramped hallway of his apartment, and lifted him on his feet as he kissed him, sweet and slow before leading him back inside the living room. 

“Ezra?” Colin says, from somewhere in the bedroom. 

Ezra whirls around, embarrassed at getting caught, to see Colin standing at the door of his closet, holding an uncapped water bottle in one hand. The stubble he’s too lazy to shave off catches the light. A headband pushes most of the hair out of his face, resulting in grey and black tufts standing like nutgrass on top of his head.He’s just finished his circuit, and is wearing faded grey track pants and a tank top that’s practically see through. He has shoulders, these great big shoulders that make Ezra want to lean on them, every time. When he thinks of Colin in their time apart, that’s the first thing that comes to mind: the meat of his shoulder, then the slowness of his breath as he sleeps, Ezra pressing close to the strong curve under his cheek, as he spiders his fingers across the width of Colin’s chest, admiring the patches of skin bronzed by Californian sun, the freckles dotting his collarbone.

“What are you doing in there, sweetheart?” And that smile on his face, always so fond, always so full of warmth Ezra feels himself go hot every damn time.

Ezra shrugs and pockets the foil without thinking, before ambling towards Colin and pressing himself bodily to his front. Colin’s arms wind easily enough around Ezra, cinching at the small of his back as Colin grins at him and presses their faces together. This close Ezra can see every line in Colin’s face, the way the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes deepen when he grins, his teeth showing. Colin is decades older than Ezra is, and a number of his friends have voiced out their concerns, but none of that really matters. How can it, Ezra thinks, when he makes him feel this way each time, unmoored by every gesture of affection, no matter how small or insignificant. 

Sometimes, Ezra lies in bed at night and listens to Colin’s gentle snoring, wondering what it would be like to never say his name again. Wondering what it would be like to suddenly stop calling him at 9 in the evening when it’s 2 AM in London and Colin is stumbling around in the dark, feeling out the lamp on the nightstand, grumbling in his ear about how late it is but always listening to what Ezra has to say. When it ends, will Ezra have to return everything he’s appropriated in the last several months? The shirts he’d borrowed and never planned on returning, the little gifts Colin sometimes bought him while he was traveling, the matching cashmere scarf he’d gotten them on his own birthday, which is easily the most expensive thing Ezra’s ever worn of his own accord because he never shops in high end stores. The thought makes him sad and lonely and depressed, until he realises that he and Colin aren’t even dating, at least not _explicitly_. Or — Ezra doesn’t know. All he knows is that Colin buys him things and takes him on trips with him, and sometimes has sex with him when he’s in town for some social obligation. 

Ezra brings his hands up to Colin’s face, pinching his cheeks, making Colin laugh as Ezra smoothes his thumbs above the dip between his brows, easing the tension from his face. Then he kisses him, right between the eyes, apropos of nothing, nipping him gently on the tip of his nose so that Colin laughs again, a full body laugh. It sends waves of pleasure singing up Ezra’s spine. Making people laugh has always come easily to him, but it’s a different matter entirely when it’s Colin who’s laughing, squeezing him by the waist and lifting him, a little, off his feet. 

Ezra has no choice but to follow gravity and tip forward into him so his hands are splayed across Colin’s naked chest, the skin warm under his fingertips where the collar of his shirt has dipped.

“I need to shave,” Colin sighs, when Ezra begins tracing his jawline with his fingers and they kiss in between smiling like idiots the whole time. Another thing about Colin no one knows: he likes to kiss, and often, especially when Ezra is least expecting it. He kisses him first thing in the morning when Ezra is braindead and still has bad breath, when Ezra’s on his knees blowing him, his eyes running with tears from several attempts to swallow him, his lips swollen and shiny with spit. Often times, Colin will reach out and tilt Ezra’s chin up, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smiling before patting him on the cheek, one broad palm enveloping Ezra’s jaw. Never mind that Ezra’s lips is wet with Colin’s precome, never mind that he has a mouthful of breakfast, or forgotten to floss after a meal. He kisses him, as if 

It stops his breath sometimes, how unpredictable Colin can be.

“Keep the stubble,” Ezra tells him, running his nose along Colin’s unshaven jaw, scratchy under his cheek. “I like it when you don’t shave.”

“Do you now?” Colin teases playfully. Ezra shrugs one shoulder, pretending to think, but already his mind conjures the following images: his legs hoisted above Colin’s shoulders, and his ankles crossing his neck, the skin of his thighs raw and pink from beard burn, his hips rising up each time Colin’s stubble rasps his skin.

“You gonna take me to bed, mister?” Ezra asks, pitching his voice low and sultry. 

“Is that what you want?” Colin asks, always in that same questioning tone, like he wants to make sure Ezra is comfortable before starting anything. He peers into Ezra’s face, searching his eyes imploringly. “This old man to take you to bed?”

“You’re my old man,” Ezra says. He snorts, rolling his eyes. “And _pfft_ you’re not that old. You’re only what, forty-five.”

“Forty-one,” Colin corrects him with a reprimanding squeeze to his ass.

“Good thing I’mbad at math, then,” Ezra jokes. “Because it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Forty-one,” Colin says again, with a pointed look, although this time he bites Ezra gently on the neck. Ezra squeaks and bangs his fists against Colin’s chest, though mostly for show, as his laughter quickly devolves into a throaty moan the second Colin’s teeth sinks into his skin. Colin takes him to bed, just as promised, where he peels off Ezra’s clothes one by one and tosses them theatrically over his shoulder. He fucks him, long and slow, the way Ezra secretly likes it, his hands wrapped around Ezra’s ankles, his hips pressed tight against Ezra’s ass, no words passing between them save for expletives and breathy pronouncements of each other’s names. 

Later, after they’ve cooled down, Colin picks up all their clothingfrom the floor, folding them haphazardly on the chair next to the bed.

Ezra watches him from on top of the covers, eyes-half-lidded, too blissed out to filter his words. “You’re such a dad,” he states, his head lolling comfortably against the pillows. His voice is nothing more than a reedy croak, as he’d been shouting himself hoarse while Colin had been buried to the root inside him, but Colin hears him nonetheless, scratching his chin before shrugging a naked shoulder at him. 

“Well,” Colin says, after a protracted silence, and some blinking. “I _am_.”

Ezra blushes, rolling his eyes at himself, before flinging an arm over his eyes to cover his face. Of course, Colin’s a dad. How can he forget.

“Hey,” Colin says, kneeling next to him on the bed, nudging his arm off his face. “Hey, don’t hide that pretty face of yours. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ezra snorts, more at himself. He sits up and Colin grins, one hand resting lightly on his forearm. Ezra likes that, the casual touching. Just as Colin’s about to lean forward and kiss Ezra though, his phone buzzes on the nightstand, effectively cutting their moment short. 

Colin glances down at his phone, still knelt on one side of the bed, totally unself-conscious about the state of his nakedness. Ezra tries not to stare at him and compare sizes and it takes all his self control not to reach out and cup Colin’s dick. Just to see if he could go at it again. 

“James,” Colin says, thumbing a reply on his phone. He texts with both hands before setting his phone aside again. “Today’s father’s day so he and Henry are coming over this afternoon to give me a present.”

Ezra smacks a hand over his own forehead. “ _Shit_.”

“What?” says Colin in alarm.

“Shit, shit, _shit_.” Ezra scrubs a hand through his face, his hair. “I totally forgot it’s father’s day today!” 

“Yeah, well, it’s not a big deal,” Colin assures him. He laughs, flicking Ezra on the nose. “I’m not your dad, Ezra.”

Ezra blushes, red to the tip of his ears, not meeting Colin’s gaze. He never gets shy, not around others, his mother had always taught him it was never good to shy away from things you want, but around Colin… _well_. He always feels like he’s walking on a tightrope, his stomach full of nerves, his every action veiled with intent. He wants Colin to want him, so much so that Ezra finds himself acting, at times, a certain kind of way — cute or coy, or whatever the situation calls for — just to provoke a reaction. Anything to seize his complete attention. 

Ezra sneaks a peek at Colin, and realisation seems to hit, all at once, because Colin blushes too, and can’t seem to meet his eyes.

He may not be Ezra’s dad, but. Well, he’s his _daddy_. The same way Ezra is his baby, his princess, his _girl_. It’s dumb, and silly, really, when Ezra steps back to examine it, but Ezra’s hindbrain does all the thinking when Colin’s hands and mouth are on him, when he’s kissing him like his life depended on it, and not even on the mouth, but down there, between the thighs, where he’s driven absolutely crazy. And there are no words, no words at all, than can describe how Colin makes him feel, when they’re pressed chest to chest and he looks at Ezra a certain way.

“Well,” Colin says, sucking in a breath. He laughs, shaking his head, still a little red in the face, thumbing the corner of Ezra’s lips before — and there he goes again — kissing him without warning. “Well, okay.”

“Yeah,” Ezra agrees blandly. 

“You can make it up to me next time,” Colin tells him, as he settles down next to Ezra and jerks his chin down his arm, a gesture that prompts Ezra to roll forward against him. He folds himself across Colin’s body appropriately, arms and legs and all, like a cocoon. Colin is warm, and solid under his cheek, smelling like clean sweat and soap, and when he kisses Ezra on the temple, just like that, without thought, Ezra crumples, like a deck of cards, in one fell swoop.

“All right,” Ezra says, tracing a finger up Colin’s collarbone, feeling oddly warm, all over. “What would you like to have?”

Colin reaches out with his other hand to muss up Ezra’s hair. He lets his hand stay there, for a long time, cupping the side of Ezra’s face, his fingers buried in the curtain of his hair, his eyes as soft as anything as he sweeps his gaze down Ezra’s mouth, the whole of his face. “Nothing, really, that I can think of,” he says, his voice rich with fondness Ezra catches himself blushing. “I think I’m all set.”

 

 

 


	2. Colin

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Colin stays over, his alarm goes off at 6AM. Colin’s always been an early riser, his morning routine a constant flurry of movement, so he isn’t all that surprised to find Ezra still deeply asleep, curled like a comma and buried under layers of blankets next to him. Colin leans over to kiss the slope of an exposed shoulder but Ezra rolls onto his side at the last minute so Colin gets a bit of ear instead, which he can’t say he minds. He takes a playful nip of Ezra’s earlobe but Ezra doesn’t even budge, too braindead at this hour to take notice of his presence.

Colin heaves himself off the bed, and has a leisurely shave in the bathroom. If there’s a word to describe Ezra’s Brooklyn apartment, it’s… _cramped_. Everything is within arm’s reach, though that’s probably Colin exaggerating a little. He’s not used to such small spaces, having been based in LA in the last decade of his life, where rent is cheaper and he has two beachfront properties. Ezra’s apartment is tiny, by his standards, two beds, one bath, a kitchen, and a small living space cluttered with furniture pulled straight from a catalogue but didn’t match.

The spare bedroom has been converted into a soundproofed studio, where Ezra sometimes holes himself when his friends come over to visit. He plays keyboard in a band, and bass and accordion — widely talented it seems, and varied in his tastes. 

Colin has yet to find something about Ezra that he isn’t delighted by. He’s clever, and funny, though his jokes tended to be referential and difficult to follow. When he’d smiled shyly up at Colin, hunching his shoulders a little, the first time they met at the read through, Colin thought, well, wasn’t he sweet. 

He thinks that even now as he pads back to the bedroom after half an hour of wrestling with the blender to spit out his smoothie. Ezra is lying on his back, one pale leg jutting out from the envelop of blankets he has wrapped around himself, his leg slung over the side of the bed.

Colin finishes his smoothie in one go, and feeling like a creep watching Ezra sleep, goes to the living room to work on some core exercises.

*

The second time Colin stays over, he’s brought a duffel bag of clothes. He has some time off before filming of his next movie begins so he’s made plans to spend an entire week at Ezra’s, eating his food, watching his shows, though he still has qualms over the amount of takeout Ezra likes to choke down at dinner. Ezra doesn’t get up until 10 in the morning, no matter how early he goes to bed the previous night, so Colin takes it upon himself to go about his day. His morning constitutes of a half-hearted wank in the shower, before he goes for a forty minute run in Central Park while the rest of New York is still asleep and he can safely deflect attention. 

On his way back to Ezra’s apartment, he picks up a few things from the grocery store, replacing every unhealthy food item in Ezra’s fridge with a healthier organic substitute. He’s drinking kale juice from a plastic tumbler when Ezra stumbles into the living room and trips over nothing, banging his knee against the coffee table as he navigates the sty of his living room all with the grace of a newborn colt. 

Colin watches him hop around for a little while, while trying not to laugh. Soon he takes pity, and leads Ezra by the shoulders to the direction of the couch, covered in unfolded laundry.

Ezra lists instantly to the side and closes his eyes, as if to sleep and Colin huffs out a laugh when Ezra goes horizontal and pillows his hands under his face. 

His hair is longer now, falling across his eyes like an avalanche. He makes a pretty picture, with his cheek creased on one side with pillow marks, and his mouth still lush from sleep.

“Good morning,” Colin greets, standing over him. 

Ezra makes a mangled noise, halfway into sounding like a human being before holding out his hand. “Coffee,” he mumbles. “’S that coffee?”

“Oh, no, darling, you wouldn’t want this. This is kale.”

Ezra makes an offended noise, but keeps his arm outstretched, his hand aloft in the air, fingers flexing on nothing. “Coffee,” he says. “Coffee, coffee, coffee.”

Colin brews the coffee. 

Ten minutes later, Ezra is finally upright though his eyes seem to be perpetually gummed shut. He looks like a newborn puppy, blinking and squinting at the morning light filtering in through the curtains. Colin is seized with a momentary kick of affection, the kind that leaves him reeling and wondering what hit him. He’s completely taken aback by it, and a little bit affronted. Lately though, he’s started to cotton on to the fact that it’s little things like that that have been endearing him to Ezra: all it takes is a look, a word, or the shape he makes under the covers — the way his shirts, often one size too small, pulls taut across his stomach,or how his body moves in rhythm to his, when they kiss or make love. 

“Needs more milk,” Ezra sniffs, cradling the enormous mug to his face, the handle facing outward. “This tastes like shit.”

“It’s organic,” Colin states. 

Ezra makes that face again. “You’re so LA it’s disgusting.”

“It’s good for you,” Colin reminds him, without even an ounce of irony.

“Anything that tastes like this can’t be good for you,” Ezra says, though he takes an obedient sip of the coffee anyway.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Colin says. Then he adds, “Besides, you’ve had worse things in your mouth so you can’t complain.”

Of course, the joke goes way over Ezra’s head.

*

It takes Ezra at least an hour to fully wake from sleep. He walks around the apartment for a good ten minutes, banging into furniture and cursing, spends another ten rifling through the cupboard for coffee. Sometimes he drops a mug, or mistakes his cigarette tray for a coaster. Sometimes he drinks milk straight from the carton, and eats breakfast in bed, leaving crumbs all over the covers. He loathes any form of exercise, except, probably, sex, because Colin has tried and failed to rope him into doing yoga more than a few times. He seems to be interested enough in watching Colin do the downward facing dog, though, ogling him from the couch while slurping pleasurably at his coffee. Once, Colin managed to tug him out of bed at six in the morning, but while he’d done a circuit around Central Park, Ezra had mostly lagged behind and complained, out of breath and wheezing before crumpling forward on his hands and knees. His entire body hurt like hell the next day, at least according to him, and he spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, being a general headache, making Colin fetch him things and run errands all over New York for him, short of picking up his fan mail. But he was cute like that, and Colin didn’t really mind, spoiling him to the point of it being overkill, massaging his calves and promising never to make him run again. 

Ezra isn’t a morning person, that much is true, but sometimes at two in the morning, he gets horny and humps Colin in his sleep. Almost always they end up in some sort of sexual position, spooning or with Ezra draped halfway on top of Colin, finishing sleepily in his pajamas. 

Because he wears pajamas, is the thing, and that shouldn’t be sexy at all but it cranks Colin’s buttons just a little bit, especially when the waistband sits low to Ezra’s hips and Ezra’s in a shirt that he’d first owned back in grade school, a tiny thing showing the paler half of his stomach, the material thin enough to be practically see through. 

Ezra doesn’t know the effect his clothing has on Colin, though Colin guesses this is mostly due to the fact Ezra wears whatever the hell he wants: feather boas, overly large tunics, felt hats and red pleather pants. Once, he’d worn a gingham romper for brunch which drove Colin absolutely, and _strangely_ , insane with lust, picturing himself turning Ezra over on his knee and smacking his ass through the material like he was a dom in a bad porno. 

It’s easy enough to discount Ezra as just another pretty face, with his soft mouth and even softer hands, but he’s well-read and can keep up with the best of them, his shelves filled with Dostoyevsky and Faulkner, and just like every Williamsburg hipster, the complete works of Jonathan Franzen. He’s sometimes self-conscious about his appearance and his acting, but that goes with being in your early twenties, the same way being a little selfish and self-centered seems par for the course. 

Colin adores him because he doesn’t always laugh at his jokes, and calls him out often for being corny, though Ezra laughs sometimes because of his telling. He adores him because he’s never met anyone quite like him before, who cries openly in sad movies, but can be equally vicious when provoked, though he’s only seen Ezra angry, once, when somebody had called his best friend Lilah a dirty cunt. Ezra sings in the shower and Colin doesn’t have the heart to tell him he sucks, just a little bit, and that he should leave the singing to his bandmates who Colin’s met a couple of times and knows feel weird around him. His taste in food will one day give him a heart attack, and he should stop smoking all that weed before it becomes a problem. But all that, coupled with the fact that he smiles every time Colin kisses him and even closes his eyes, the fact that he laughs with his entire body, and once, professed his undying drunken love to Colin at two in the morning before promptly passing out and forgetting all about it the next day, only serves to endear him more, until finally, finally, as Colin watches him sleepily pace around the living room and bump into things, he thinks: _well._ So this is what it feels like to be moved.

*

Gradually, over time, Colin finds himself settled in Ezra’s apartment — a spare toothbrush makes its home in the medicine cabinet, next to a bottle of allergy medication and Colin’s Omega-3 Fish Oil gel tablets. His clothes hang in the closet, next to Ezra’s shiny red pants and his leather vest which he’s only seen Ezra wear, once, thankfully, and in a photo. Everything else is folded away, or tucked inside drawers: a bottle of cologne, a travel-sized tumbler for when he’s out on runs, his favourite watch, the first he’d ever bought as soon as his paycheck hit six digits, and his striped yoga mat, rolled away under the bed next to shoeboxes of mixtapes Ezra made back in the mid 2000’s when he was still a teenager living in Wyckoff, New Jersey, and, of course — his bong. 

Colin walks around comfortably in Ezra’s kitchen some mornings, clutching his Kale juice in one hand, fresh from a run, and puts Abba on as he fixes Ezra a healthy breakfast of eggs and broccoli. He plays handyman some weekends and tinkers with the leaky pipes under Ezra’s sink, getting a faceful of soot and rusty water as a result. When he stays the night, he makes sure to bring food he can cook, lots of red meat though his stomach often protests, a bottle of expensive red wine, and because he’s old fashioned to fault, a box of dark chocolates. Sometimes he even hauls all of Ezra’s dirty laundry in a bag and drops them off at the laundromat on his way to Central Park, picking it up in the afternoon on his way to Harlem where Ezra has band practice, or a gig. 

In New York, Colin can’t be arsed to rent a car or drive, so he takes the subway to get anywhere, the only alternative being to walk. 

No one cares that he’s semi-famous, because the subway cars are packed enough though probably the anonymity is due to the fact that no one recognizes him when he’s dressed down to jeans and a padded jacket, sporting a grey almost offensive beard. He often feels old when surrounded by Ezra’s twenty-something hipster friends, but it’s still a marvel when Ezra comes barreling straight into his arms as soon as he sees him by the door, kissing him all over the face like an overactive puppy. 

Later, they take the subway back to Brooklyn, the bag of laundry nestled on their laps, their hands joined and tucked in Colin’s pocket. Right before it’s time for bed, Ezra pushes Colin into a sitting position on the bed, instructing him to wait before disappearing down the hall. Colin hears a door slam, then a muffled yelp, the scrape of chair, before Ezra comes staggering back into the doorway, awkwardly posed with one hip cocked to the side.

“Hey,” Ezra grins shyly, ambling between Colin’s spread knees. “Do you like it?”

“Like — _what_ ,” Colin says, once his brain catches up with mouth. “ _What_. Baby.” He shuts his mouth with a click. “Jesus.”

He’s wearing red gingham panties with a lace trim around the waistline and a quaint little bow at the center. It cups the fit of his cock quite nicely, the material almost sheer Colin doesn’t have to imagine the shape of his cock. The effect is almost ruined by the hair on his chest and legs, but Colin’s blood spikes anyway, his hands reaching out without his consent to finger the delicate lace before they curl around Ezra’s hips. He props his chin on Ezra’s stomach. This isn’t the first time Ezra’s worn — _well_. They’ve played this game before but usually after one or two drinks, maybe a porn video or two. The whole thing seems kind of unwarranted, and out of the blue, but Colin isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I know, it’s a bit much,” Ezra says, kneeling on the bed to straddle Colin’s lap. He cups the back of Colin’s neck. “But I wanted to surprise you. I still haven’t made up for, you know, forgetting Father’s day.”

“Well,” Colin says, blinking, openly staring at Ezra’s crotch. “Consider me pleasantly surprised. _Fuck._ ”

Ezra laughs. Colin flips them over so that Ezra is lying comfortably on his back, clutching at Colin’s forearms, with his legs wrapped around Colin as they alternate between kissing and humping each other through their clothes. They don’t do anything too theatric, surprisingly, just Ezra on top and riding him, grinding his hips and bearing down with all his weight, jerking off all over Colin’s chest as Colin fucks him, deep and steady, grip nearly bruising on his hips. He tells Ezra how good he is, and pretty, calls him baby girl and sweetheart and other flattering names, knowing how much Ezra likes it. Meanwhile, Ezra shouts _daddy, daddy, daddy I’m coming_ and it’s enough to send Colin careening into orgasm.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Colin says, later, when Ezra’s sprawled out like a starfish on his side of the bed, gingham panties dangling quaintly from one pale, slim ankle. “You could have just gone out running with me and I’d have been thrilled.” 

Ezra looks over at him with one squinty eye before smacking him on the stomach with the back of his hand. “Oh my god, Colin. _Shut up with the running already_. I get it. You’re fit. I’m not.”

“I’m not joking, I don’t know where you put all that food, Ezra—”

Ezra can’t stop laughing. “ _Shut up._ ”

“All right,” Colin says. He makes a zipping motion over his mouth, before lying on his side to peer down into Ezra’s face, covered by a sweeping avalanche of hair. “Shutting up now,” he says, sliding his fingers through all that dark hair, pushing it away from his eyes. 

“Good,” Ezra says. He shakes the panties off his foot, and then rolls onto his side too, facing Colin. Ready, Colin knows, for a cuddle, with the way he inches up his entire body and angles his face for a kiss. Colin knows Ezra’s body just like his own, the shape and smell and feel of it, but having Ezra sighing in his arms and folding himself against his chest will never get old. 

Colin squeezes him in his arms and doesn’t move for a whole minute, burying his face in the dark of Ezra’s hair, drumming his fingers against his hip absently.

“ _Baby_ ,” he says and Ezra sighs happily, shivering when their naked thighs touch. He’s beautiful, especially when he’s fresh from an orgasm, flushed and malleable, and quiet for once, his eyes half-lidded in post-coital bliss.

Too much of Ezra could probably kill anyone, Colin thinks, him included, but God. That face, _that mouth_. He leans down and kisses him again.

 

 

 

 


End file.
